


Nice Work

by anneapocalypse



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: Maine never made any pretense of being good, but he did good work.Maybe that’s exactly what it was about him.





	Nice Work

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Iron Gulch challenge, hosted by [ZaliaChimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaliachimera). Written in 60 minutes and posted with minimal edits.
> 
> Prompt: so you’ve never felt the attraction that comes when someone capable of doing terrible things, for some reason cares only about you?

Maine never made any pretense of being good, but he did good work.

Maybe that’s exactly what it was about him.

 

There’s one memory that comes back to her, still, as noisy and bright as the day itself. The cacophonous buzz of highway traffic all around them, horns and hum of wheels on asphalt at high speeds and the howl of wind between vehicles and air currents moving over and under the twisting overpasses. Even now, the memory’s so sharp she can sink into it completely. Even knowing the things she knows now, she can be transported back to the delicious drop in her stomach as she dove off the edge of the building—110 stories, a fall that would’ve killed them in Earth g, probably, even with Maine’s perfectly-timed catch. Just enough g to drag her downward with dizzying, thrilling force. Just enough less than Earth to slow the fall a little, give their ride a chance to swoop in.

What she remembers is how she never doubted them then–any of them. Never doubted Maine could take the jump from the window. Never doubted Niner would catch them in their fall, and failing that, somebody else would, or they would improvise a landing strategy. She never doubted the mission, her team. Not then.

Maine surprised her, that day, but he shouldn’t have. He wasn’t a leader or a strategist either, but he was resourceful, and when you came down to it, he knew she needed him and he was there, right at that particular moment.

She never really stopped to ask herself back then, would he have done that if it wasn’t her. Wired the hog, calculated the angles, timed the jump, all without even the help of an AI. Would he have bothered, if it wasn’t _her_ falling out of the sky?

She remembers falling spread-eagle for air resistance to slow the fall, and the arc of the Warthog crossing her path in midair, Maine’s big shiny dome in the driver’s seat, such an absurd image. Everything seeming to slow down for a few tight seconds as she reached for the gunner turret, caught, swung, the world spinning as a bark of hysterical laughter escaped her, adrenaline and elation a pulsing current in her veins and he turned, in the driver’s seat, looked over his shoulder to make sure he had her. He didn’t look at York, who’d grabbed shotgun. Only her.

She swung, got a foothold, the hog landed hard, big wheels grinding into the asphalt and the world righted itself and Maine had eyes on the road now and the acceleration floored, the freeway becoming a tunnel of wind and noise and speed, all of it igniting a fierce and hungry energy in her bones.

 

When they got the call that Team B was down, she was the one who offered backup.

Negative, North said, get the package, which they all knew was the right answer, so no one argued.

Maine, though. It’s another moment of perfect clarity: the hog pulled off the narrow shoulder of the overpass, Maine jumping out and York shifting quickly into the driver’s seat. North transmitting targeting data—their HUDs finding the vehicle, marking the target, and Maine vaulting over the guardrail like he was born to do this.

She remembers the sound of him landing feetfirst on the hood, the crunch of steel and the screech of the car skidding wildly across the lanes. York was already pulling them back into traffic and she was just watching, ready to back him up, knowing she wouldn't have to.

He had that brand new weapon in his hands like he’d carried it his whole life. The momentum of his swing, the angle of the curved blade going through the car’s driver, bisecting him between the ribs.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Maine quickly withdraw the blade, shift the angle and slash again, making a quick job of the wrist the briefcase was handcuffed to.

There was hardly any blood on the cuffs, dangling empty from the case’s handle. He worked fast. Had the case in hand 45 seconds after jumping from the overpass, and his stride when he walked up to meet them in the hog was full of satisfaction.

_“Nice work, Maine.”_

_“Thanks.”_

Thing is, she meant it. Thing is, she’d _still_ mean it if she said it today. Knowing everything she does. Everything the mission was, every lie they were told. The body count in their wake, the blood on their hands, the hundreds of senseless civilian casualties that only really sunk in later.

_“Is that a bomb?”_

Still, he did good work.

She’s sick about what they did. And he did good work. They did good work together.

Maybe she should’ve known they were both monsters. Probably.

 

But god, there are moments when she wonders if she’d do it all again.

Just to tell him he did good work, one more time.


End file.
